The Old Tree

Dave Park

Jan 16, 2019·1 min read

The years go by, and suddenly middle aged, I fight our mountain of debt,

I’m winning in inches, and we climb, ever so slowly.

Like the old tree, that is shaped by the prevailing wind,

I have bent so much.

I fear one day, I will just break.

I summon a quiet mountain of energy, and push through the days.

And wonder when you will sleep by my side again.